


Work of Art

by CherrieXir



Category: British Actor RPF, X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drinking, Fingerfucking, Lipstick, M/M, PWP, Porn With Plot, Riding, Tom Ford Lips & Boys, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherrieXir/pseuds/CherrieXir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all love James's photo for Tom Ford's commercial, so does Michael.<br/>When his dreams become reality, it is, to Michael's delight, more than everything he has ever wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work of Art

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have friends so there's no Beta. I apologize for any bug/error. I'll edit it if I have time to read it through.  
> If you don't know what the Tom Ford pictures (which I do not own) look like, here they are: https://twitter.com/fassypicgif/status/713681522901983232

Michael didn’t really want to open that envelope with the gold Tom Ford logo. He understood why Tom Ford would want male faces on a lipstick commercial; he really does. In fact, he thought it was a great idea, a perfect reverse of gender roles in the commercial world. _But_ , he finally tore open the silk white envelope.

He sighed. Michael knew how much he could do with his body and face to win some screaming fans, but he was still a little unsure about looking like a cannibal who just had a not-so-satisfying meal. “Maybe they’ll think of you as some sexy vampire,” the photographer said jokingly during shooting, “they’d be dying to give their blood.”

 _Or they can just think of me as a good actor instead of a sex symbol._ Michael was suddenly sympathetic of his female colleagues.

He sighed again, deciding to toss it away. It’s not anything that he would put on his walls—not that he puts _anything_ on his walls—anyway. But just as he was reaching down to the trash can, he saw something on the back. Michael lifted the 7 by 11 poster, and he stopped.

_Good God._

Usually Michael wouldn’t use the word _beautiful_ to describe people who identified themselves as male. It wasn’t that _beautiful_ , according to his journalist friend Dave, was a big word that deserved a whole chapter of leading up to, or that he thought it wasn’t a word for men, he simply had never met any man that he would call _beautiful._

Well, that was before he met James McAvoy.

And now his eyes are fixed on the poster in his hand and for a second he couldn’t even think. It was out of his comprehensive ability how eye-catching, pleasing, amazing, _beautiful_ , James McAvoy looked on that poster. The smearing lipstick left the most tempting trace on his face, and the lip-shaped mark on his forehead was—Michael swallowed _—_ mouthwatering to say the least. Michael couldn’t help but think about how whoever did _it_ pulling on James’s tie, pressing down on his deliciously colored lips—oh how James called him _Michael_ —and spread out the lipstick, and then leading down and—dear lord—left his (or her) mark; and James, staring at the kisser with those baby blue eyes that can make anyone sin.

Michael suddenly felt that his pants were too tight. He probably really _should_ toss this poster away.

And of course he didn’t.

He struggled for about two seconds, finally gave in and taped it on his bedroom wall, while asking himself what the fuck he was doing.

Like, what the actual fuck. For the two weeks that _it_ had been there, Michael had gotten significantly more sleep deprived. For all the extra time he spent awake and excited before and after his sleep and the vivid dreams that he had every night, he, for some reason, did not want to take _it_ off his wall. He wanted _it_. He needed _it,_ or, James. The realization kicked in one morning after a life-like dream involving red lips and blue eyes, and Michael, with his stone hard cock, painfully groaned into his hands.

After the usual morning activity in his bathroom, Michael heard his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He almost dropped his brand new phone when he saw the caller’s name.

“Uh, he- hello?”

“Good morning, my friend. I hope I didn’t wake you up, it’s been long since last time we talked.”

“No, no, I’m already up. Um, and yes, it’s been long. What's up?” Michael shivered at the idea that he was actually hearing the soft Scottish accent that had been torturing him for weeks at night.

James laughed, a little too sweetly and joyfully, “you don’t remember it, do you? Our party at Matthew’s, tonight?”

He didn’t. But all he could think of was that James knew him all too well. “Um, well, now you’re so kind to remind me…”

“Well, good thing is Matthew still sees us as his friends and is so kind to offer us his Chelsea flat, we’d better show up in good fashion, agreed?”

“Yes,” Michael smiled, “I’ll be there, in good fashion.”

James chuckled—God he sounds delicious—and said, “alright mate, I’ll leave you back to your Saturday beauty rest.”

“Bye, James.” Michael’s voice sounded a little too deep and too smoky, perhaps that was why James thought he was still in bed.

“Goodbye, Michael.”

James was a good friend. Michael reminded himself. even though he was the nicest and funniest and most considerate friend Michael had, he was still a friend.

He through himself and his phone on the bed, and let out a long breath. This was going to be either the best or the worst day of his life.

\--

Matthew gave him a hug as Michael walked into his three-story flat. “No matter how many times I come here, I just have to marvel it a little bit.” Michael said as he walked past the marble bust by the entrance.

Matthew laughed, “come and have dinner with us some other time, you’ll see all those other things that I put away because I know what thirty-year-old teenagers can do.”

“Thanks, mate.” Michael smiled.

Matthew squeezed his shoulder, “please let yourself in before Jennifer kills Nick.”

Michael laughed and headed up the stairs.

Jennifer being Jennifer, was in the middle of a little circle formed by some familiar faces. She was probably a couple drinks deep and Michael could hear names and words like “on set” and “accident” over the music. 

He didn’t see James in the pack, or anywhere around, and he frowned at the absence. He poured himself two shots of whiskey on the rock trying to ignore strange feeling of disappointment.

“Michael fucking Fassbender.”

 He almost spat the whiskey out. He turned around and James was wearing a white button-up shirt, exactly like the one on the Tom Ford poster. He was probably a couple drinks deep, too, his blue eyes shiny on top of flushing red cheeks.

“James McAvoy.” Michael smiled, feeling the alcohol burning through his system.

“I was here for a solid half hour and only went to the bathroom for two minutes just to miss your entrance,” he then turned to the other side of the room and raised his voice, “can we play some heavy metal, Jennifer my love, Magneto’s here.”

Jennifer yelled something like “fuck off” and the whole room burst out laughing.

The rest of the night went by just like all of their other parties, with James and Jennifer playing games that were way too dangerous and the rest of the crew really not helping. They moved from the kitchen to the living room and the music was probably louder than the Chelsea standard, but no one cared.

Michael tried to avoid as many tequila shots as possible. Still, at one point, he had to sit down in the kitchen and grab himself some water, seeking some peace. His head was a little too heavy and he was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. He blamed James, who kept smiling with his alcohol-rinsed lips and who loved body contact and called everyone his “love” when drunk-

“Too much to drink, my friend?”

-and who somehow could always locate Michael whenever and wherever.

James was leaning on the door frame, his hair damp and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

Michael could feel his mouth water. He probably shouldn’t, but still dragged a chair close and gestured James to sit down. The latter gave a cat-like, satisfied smile and stepped forward.

James started talking and Michael could feel James’s breath, which smelled like something sweet that Michael wanted to drink. They were sitting a little too close to each other, but Michael wasn’t going to change that. He greedily stared at James’s eyes and lips and hands and collarbone. James’s voice sounds like heaven and Michael decided that it was indeed the best day of his life.

“Hey, Michael,” James raised his voice, pulling Michael out of his indulgence.

“Yes, sorry, I had a little too much. Sorry, what was that?”

James smiled. He tilted his head and licked his bottom lip and— _dear lord was that a wink?_ —and said, “I said, you look really, really, good.”

“Thank you, you too.” Michael suddenly realized what was happening. “Wait, what? I mean, I didn’t mean- you know-”

“I’m saying,” James was licking his bottom lip again, and they were definitely sitting too close to each other, Michael could feel James’s body, warm and soft against his side. “You are a great-looking man and I’d love to take you home. And God, either you don’t like me at all or you’re the worst at getting hints. I’m starting to doubt my charm a little.”

It probably took a whole century for him to process James’s message, but Michael’s mind was finally working, more clearly than ever. He stood up, hauling James up with him, and said, “my place’s closer.”

“Right answer.” Michael heard James whisper and smiled.

_Praise the Lord._

 --

They made their way out of Matthew’s place in a hast and Michael called his driver, who didn’t ask any question when Michael said James was too drunk to go back to his own place.

And then there they are, kissing and biting and pulling on each other’s clothes, falling into Michael’s bed giggling.

“God you did nothing when I was literally all over you at the party,” James chuckled. “I thought I was going to scare you away.”

“Never.”

Michael was busy leaving marks all over James’s neck and chest and unbuttoning his shirt when James pushed against him, “wait.”

“What?”

“Is that…” James pointed at the wall, and started giggling. “Oh my god, Michael, my secret admirer.”

 _Fuck my life_. Thought Michael, “that’s, well, that’s just—”

“Aw, poor Michael, my love,” James was full on laughing now, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. He planted kisses on Michael’s slightly hardened jawline. “You could’ve just told me.”

 _Sounds easy_. Michael thought. “Maybe I was just admiring the photography.”

“It is, I have to admit, a great picture.” James said with a smile. “And it’s a great color, the lipstick.”

“It suits you. That’s why I bought it.”

Now it was James’s turn to be speechless. His blue eyes fixed on Michael’s smirking face. “You what?”

“You heard me,” Michael grinned triumphantly. He pushed James down on the mattress and put on his deep, “sexy man” voice right next to James’s ear, “Top drawer, with other things we need.” He was happy to find James shivering and swallowing hard.

James grabbed a condom, lube, and the lipstick—god knows why—while trying to steady his breathing. He raised his eyes to meet Michael’s, “are you going to put it on me, or should I do it myself.”

Michael grabbed the lipstick and—as a good actor he’d been trained to do many things—slowly and surely started to outline James’s thin lips with it. James, with his lips slightly parted, scrutinized Michael’s every movement in the sultriest way Michael has ever seen. It was like a little game that they were playing, both refusing to surrender to the growing heat and tension in the room, resolute to see who would give in first as their breaths got heavier and heavier.

It was James that moved first. He took the lipstick from Michael’s hand and said, “how much do you think Tom Ford would have made if they had let us shoot the poster like this?”

“None,” Michael smiled, relieved to finally be able to kiss James. He didn’t really care if the lipstick got on his face, only mumbled as he dropped marks at the nape of James’s neck, “I would give anything to keep everyone from see you this way.”

James shuddered. Michael could feel the grip on his shirt tighten.

“Do you always let your lovers wait for so long before you start stripping them?” James’s voice was getting smoky.

“Patient, James.” Michael left a hickey on James’s chest. He pressed his hip on James’s and felt both of their hot erection through the layers of their trousers, laughing as James let out a whine.

“Fuck you, Fassbender.”

“Yeah, James McAvoy,” Michael sat up, flipped James face-down, and pulled down James’s trousers, “fuck me.”

He poured a generous amount of lube on his hand and on James’s butt, slowly pressed his finger into the tight and warm hole as James moaned into the pillow.

Michael took his time, watching James’s ear turn bright red and eyes flicker. He adds another finger and started twisting and turning inside, grinning as James started squirming and pushing back, making sweet noises that Michael heard in his dreams less than twenty-four hours ago.

“Michael Fassbender if you don’t fuck me now I _will_ pass out on you.”

“Are you always this talkative in bed?” Michael teased him, sliding another finger and pushing down harder.  

James whimpered, “I- I’m starting to doubt your ability, darling.”

“You want me to shut you up?” Michael softly bit James’s ear. “Fuck you until you’re speechless?”

There was a second that James froze. Michael pulled his hand out to strip himself down and tear a condom open, and James moaned at the loss of contact.

 _God he is mesmerizing_. Michael couldn’t help but marvel the smooth arch of James’s back. He might not be able to hold long.

“I feel like a fucking teenager.” Michael said as he rolled the condom on to his hard cock.

“I feel like I’m fucking a teenager-” James apparently decided that the pace wasn’t up to his standards. He pushed up his body and shove Michael underneath, face flushed and eyes glittering. “-who is too scared to use his mighty tools.”

Michael’s eyes darkened, “never doubt a man’s ability and determination in bed, James. I was-”

James stopped him with two fingers on his lips, “and never treat me like your virgin girlfriend.” He earned himself a squeeze on his ass.

“Make me regret it.”

James grinned, his skin glimmering with a thin cover of sweat and his lipstick smudged on his face. The way he closed his eyes and swung his head backwards and slowly sank down on to Michael’s cock was absolutely _beautiful_.

They both let out a sigh when James finally sat down, his hole so tight and hot that Michael thought he was going to cum that second.

“Good God,” James’s eyes finally focused on Michael’s face, “16 inches, eh?”

“You’re the one running the test.” Michael lifted one eye brow, “what do _you_ think?”

James smiled— _Jesus Christ he is fascinating_ —and leaned back to press down harder, his own cock hard in between them. “It’s amazing.” He started moving up and down, hands squeezing Michael’s stomach and leaving marks on it.

“You too.”

James was losing control, Michael could feel James’s thighs trembling, and he was not so together himself. Still, James pulled out a smirk and said, “I know. If you can’t keep it up for long, I don’t—oh god _there—_ I don’t blame you.”

Michael pushed his hip up to force a loud moan out of James, “you really like to push your lovers over the edge don’t you?”

James answered with broken syllables as Michael trust upwards, over and over again, deep inside James, _there_ , until James couldn’t hold himself up anymore. As much as Michael loved to watch James riding his cock, he would like to do something else. Michael flipped him down and pushed James into the mattress, lifted one long, lean leg over his shoulder and pressed the other wide open.

He cocked slipped out as they switched positions, and before Michael pushed back in, he heard James said, “only you.”

James had made it clear that he wasn’t Michaels “virgin girlfriend,” and Michael wasn’t the most patient man, either. He pinned James into his bed, just like he’d been imagining for weeks, and snapped his hips forward, picking up his pace as James’s nails dug into his back. He bent down to press kisses over James’s lips, sweet and delicious like the best kinds of liquor all together.

“Oh my god, oh, Michael—” James’s eyes were covered with lust, and Michael could not get enough of it.

Michael got the hint, feeling his own pleasure building as well. He snapped away James’s hand and reached down to his cock between them.

“James.” He whispered between panting kisses.

 “Oh fuck—” James’s head fell back and his whole body tensed up, his cock throbbing in Michael’s palm and he came in hot streams on their stomachs. Michael felt the clenching, incredibly tight around him. James let out a long whine that easily tipped Michael over the edge. He bit down on James’s collarbone and, after a couple final hard thrusts, finally collapsed on top of James.

For a while they lay there without a word, until James nudged on Michael’s shoulder. “You’re too heavy.”

Michael chuckled and sat up, pulling out of James and threw the condom into the trash can. “James McAvoy, always ruining the moment.”

“Wow,” James poorly feigned some sadness, “is that what you think of me.”

“Fuck no.” Michael lay down next to him and pulled the cover over their bodies, pressing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. “You make it infinitely better.”

“Next time,” James’s voice turned into a soft mumble, “I’ll ride you all the way through.”

Michael turned the light off and tugged James into his arms—“Sure, sure.”—and, with a smile, drifted off into the first good night of sleep that he had in weeks.


End file.
